


Wolves in the Snow

by Emmy_loo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmy_loo/pseuds/Emmy_loo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter is coming, and the North remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves in the Snow

Rosalina

The sun was setting through the thick Braavosi fog when Rosalina finally woke up. The deep orange color looked like a painting through her window, muted by wisps of fog. She could hear the clam-sellers shouting still, offering steep discounts to any who would take the last of their wares off of their hands. Rosalina pitied them - surely anyone who sold cockles all day would never stop smelling of them.

She decided that she would smell like lavender tonight, and told the maid so when she entered the room to draw up a bath. She had never given much thought to her smell, but Carla insisted it was an important part of being alluring, and so Rosie plucked a few sprigs of lavender for her bath.

It was dark by the time she was finished, but the full moon was bright even through the fog. She did not need a candle to dress herself in soft silks and delicate laces, though the maid tutted when she came in to help with the ties on the back of her dress.

“Don’t know how you can see a thing in here, little one. ‘S as dark as a cave, it is.”

Rosie just smiled. She waited obediently while the maid lit a candle before pulling a brush through thick auburn hair and winding it into braids and coils. She entertained herself by humming a tune she could not think of the words to, and gasped when the maid pulled tightly on her hair.

“Didn’t know you knew any Western songs,” the maid teased, and Rosie shrugged.

 “Didn’t know it was Western,” she lied. “I just liked the sound of it.”

 “My grandmother liked that song, too, used to hear it from the sailors, she said. I still know a verse or two….” She cleared her throat, and when she sang, her voice was scratchy and most of the words were pronounced wrong. Rosie doubted that she understood what she was singing. “ _High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts..._ ”

 She stopped, and Rosie thought she might be embarrassed. “Sorry, little one. That’s all I can recall. Been a long time since I heard that song.”

 “That’s alright,” said Rosie, who was suddenly certain that she did not want to hear the rest of the words. “I’m nearly late, anyway.”

 And she hurried away before the maid could say anything else. 

* * *

 Downstairs, it was quiet still. There were a few men who had started drinking already, or had been nursing a cup all day. There always were, it didn’t matter the hour. The scent of lavender followed Rosie into Carla’s office, where the older woman was frowning over a ledger.

 “You’re late,” she said, without looking up.

 “Not yet,” Rosie said, “but in a few moments I might have been.”

 Carla looked up with a half smile. Her shiny golden blonde hair draped easily over the left side of her face, hiding it in shadow. Men had once talked about Carla - in the same breath as the Black Pearl or the Mermaid’s Daughter, but that was before half of her face had drifted down like melting candle wax. Now she rarely left her back rooms, and other, prettier faces managed the front of the house. Faces like Rosie’s, which was round as a button and had soft pink lips.

 “Collect all the coin from last night,” she said. “That will keep you busy for the nonce.”

 Rosie nodded and slipped out of the room. Collecting coins was fun - she thought she had seen nearly every kind in the world, by now, from Tyroshi rounds to Myrish rings. Four of the latter were in the first bedchamber, where Venezia was lacing into a tight crimson gown, and she took three for Carla. She had not yet seen a coin from Asshai, though, and when she asked, Janna had laughed in her face and told her they didn’t use coins in Asshai, which Rosie thought was stupid.

 The rest of the girl’s rooms yielded two more Myrish rings, plenty of Braavosi copper, a hex from Qohor and twelve silver Westerosi stags. Rosie tried not to feel uneasy at the number of westerners who had spent their coin here in the past night, but she had found stags in four rooms. Four Westerosi - who were they traveling with?

 Rosie shook herself before she returned to Carla’s room, pockets ringing with coin. These were not things that Rosie had cause to worry over. All Rosie knew about Westerosi men was that many of them were stingy with their coin.

 Carla was still immersed in the ledgers, but Rosie thought she might have been looking for an excuse to stop, because she stood as soon as Rosie crossed the threshold.

 “It was a good night, Sennorita Carla,” Rosie said in a sing-song voice as she emptied her pockets. “Most of the rooms were taken, and the men were either very drunk or very generous.”

 “That is good to hear, little rose. The landlord will be by soon.”

 Rosie started humming again, a Braavosi tune this time, and Carla gave her half of a smile. “I do not know if I have ever heard you sing before, little rose, but you carry the tune well. Come, tonight you shall be our minstrel.”

 She did not have any chance to protest before she was being led into the main hall, which had grown more crowded with men, eager to fall into their cups. Rosie would have a sweet voice, she thought, somewhat desperately. Rosie would like to be in the center of attention.

 That did not stop her heart from beating askance, Carla’s hand firm on her shoulder, leading her to a stool at the side of the bar.

 “You will sing, and if Marei needs help with the serving, you will bring the men their wine and ale. Keep singing for so long as you are able.”

 Rosie nodded, and Carla disappeared again, to hide herself in her rooms. For a few moments she could scarce think, let alone sing, but then she took a deep breath and plunged into _The Sealord’s Daughter_. It was a bawdy song, but a favorite of sailors and Rosie knew it well. By the second verse her voice stopped trembling and a table in the corner had joined in.

 From there, the men shouted out songs, and it was all Rosie could do to keep pace with their demands. She sang _Food for Eels_ and _The Courtesan’s Lover_ and _The Titan’s Sword_ and dodged pinches when she brought men their drinks. Men called out the names of songs in their own tongues but she had to shake her head and smile. She did not know the words.

 There was no sign of the Westerners until the hour of the wolf, when all four of them stumbled in at once. Their beards were unkempt and they already looked drunk. They sat across from one another near the fire and ordered ale at once. Marei poured four glasses and pushed them over to Rosie to deliver them.

 Rosie still sang when she approached the shaggy western men, but she no longer paid any mind to the tune.

 “D’you reckon Stannis will oust the Bolton bastards? Made me sick to see Winterfell in such a state,” said the first with a hiccup. “Bloody oathbreakers.”

 “He might’ve already done it,” said the second, who sported a blackened eye. “Or they’re all buried in snow. No one’s heard anything in weeks.”

 Rosie delivered the tankards and did not resist too much when the third man, bald on top but with an auburn beard, pulled her onto his lap. She did stop singing, though, her throat raw, and muttered a few choice curses in Braavosi. His hands were firm on her hips, and warm.

 The last man, older than the rest, shook his head. “It would take more than an autumn snow to stop that army. There may be no Starks left, but the North remembers.”

 The man who held her close snorted. “My coin is on the Boltons staying safe in their ruined castle while Stannis’ armies freeze to death. What do you think, wench?” He pinched her rear, and she felt him stiffen when she squirmed.

 Without waiting for an answer, he turned to his companions. “This is why I love foreign whores. They nod and smile and never...”

 “I think there are wolves who hide in the snow,” she said in the Common Tongue, interrupting him, “and winter is coming.”

 The bald man was too startled to protest when she slipped away. She felt the weight of their eyes on her back until she turned the corner toward Carla’s quarters.

 

That night she dreamed of wolves.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story in a very long time, and the first I'm posting here! Characters and pairings will be added as the story progresses.


End file.
